Redemption
by ArmoredSoul
Summary: AU, currently ON HIATUS. General Grievous, my take. His transformation from warrior to monster.
1. Agreements

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Chapter One: Agreements

Pain. Burning, fiery agony, coursing through what little remained of his physical form. He choked back a cry, knowing that no one here would care. Thick greenish fluid kept him hovering in limbo, not unlike the salt-heavy water of the sea he had been dragged out of. Had he been able to, he would have cried, remembering the shredded bodies of his proud elite warriors still lying in the wreckage of his shuttle. It had happened so suddenly, it was only now that he realized why the craft had failed him. A bomb, some small incendiary device set somewhere the scanners could not reach, had ruptured the fuel tanks and torn the sturdy vehicle into so many metal bits. Some how, he had survived, though mortally wounded and trapped within the wreck at the bottom of the shallow sea. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he remembered somebody dragging his mutilated body from the water, resuscitating him as he was placed on a stretcher. Now, he was here, suspended in a tank of healing bacta, a breathing apparatus fixed to what little remained of his face. He could see vague figures through the fluid, though he couldn't tell if his blurred vision was caused by the bacta or damage to his eyes. A tall, overly thin silhouette approached his prison, and a voice echoed through the thick liquid that surrounded him on all sides.

"How are you feeling, General Sheelal?"

That annoyingly arrogant, wheedling voice, a voice he had become quite familiar with over the past few months.

"San Hill?"

Oh Gods, it hurt to speak, spines of pain piercing his throat. He barely held back a whimper.  
"None other, comrade."

"What are you doing here, muun?"  
For a moment, the gaunt alien was silent, obviously disliking the almost-insult, but when Hill spoke again it was as if he had never uttered a word.

"As you have probably discovered, your shuttle was sabotaged to crash into the Jenuwaa Sea. Fortunately, one of our Federation vessels was in the area at the time, and the crew able to rescue you from the wreckage."

"My elite, my Izvoshra…"

"My apologies, general, you were the only survivor."

He felt as if his heart might break. One of his favorite sons had just been entered into the ranks of his elite soldiers. The knowledge that the youth was vanquished…

"My family?"

"They are well. I believe one of your sons just had his coming of age celebration not too long ago."

He knew which son the muun was referring to. Jahkeel, the third youngest of his five boys. The weeklong ceremony was to begin as he was shuttled to the front lines to battle the Huk. But if the ceremony had been completed, how long had been in the bacta tank?

"How long-?"

"About a week and a half. We had a hard time getting your vitals stable, touch and go there for a while. You were unconscious for most of the healing process, so it's logical that you might be a bit disoriented at the moment."

The muun watched with no small amount of pleasure as the wounded Kaleesh nodded, accepting the lies. In truth, the general had been suspended in the bacta for over a month, his injuries so severe that amputation had had to be applied to the worst damage. And while the invalid's family was alive, they believed him dead, the son's coming of age ceremony put off for the general's funeral rights. Last check, the Kaleesh's six wives were just finishing the mourning period by bathing in the waters in which they thought he had died. All the better for what San Hill's superiors had in store for the pitiful remains suspended in the bacta.

"Where am I?"

"Genosis. It is a planet of healers and inventors, the best place for your recovery."

His golden eyes widened in surprise. While Kalee was generally focused on it's own battles with the Huk, the general did pay attention to the news feeds, and knew of Genosis. It was three systems away from his homeworld, a month's travel without a hyperspace jump, something even healthy space pilots had to be careful about before attempting. The muun was up to something, but he would have to be patient if he wanted to learn what it was the skinny alien found important enough to lie to his face. Better to humor the slimy reprobate for now.

"Recovery? I should be dead, for a warrior is useless with a body as broken as mine."

"Ah."

Jackpot.

"There is a new procedure the Genosians have been working on. It would provide you with a new body, more powerful than before and less prone to damage. Would you like to be its first beneficiary?"

The proposal caught him off guard. A new body, whole and healthy. He could return to his people with honor, defeat the Huk once and for all. If such a journey could be arranged.

"Would I be able to return to Kalee?"

"Of course. Your people need you, and the Federation needs your people's support. It is in our interest to return their greatest general to them."

Greatest general? That was a first. None out side his own Kaleesh brethren had ever referred to him as a great anything. It was a suspicious offer at best, but what else was there?

"I accept."

"Wonderful! I will inform the medics immediately."

He watched at the slender silhouette of San Hill disappeared from his sight, and prayed to the gods that he had made the right decision.


	2. Plots

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Chapter Two: Plots

Somewhere on the other side of the facility, a hydraulic door whooshed open.

"My lord, the Kaleesh has accepted the offer."

A cloaked figure rose up from the floor, separating itself from the clinging shadows that ringed the small room.

"So quickly, San Hill?"

"Yes, my lord, he agreed quite readily when he was told he would be able to return to his homeworld after the procedure."

For a moment, the room was consumed by a deafening silence that made the muun fidget out of pure nerves. Then the cloaked figure turned to face the open door.

"Very well. Inform Poggle the Lesser he is to leave the general in the bacta for one more day before beginning the experiment."

The muun bowed, so low he almost seemed to bend in half.

"Of course my lord."

"You are dismissed."

San Hill fled from the figure's presence as fast as his long legs could carry him, the door hissing closed behind his rapidly diminishing form. The cloaked figure peered after the cowardly muun for a moment, before reaching up to the deep hood over its head, pulling back the dark fabric to reveal a elderly human with close cropped white hair and a neatly trimmed white mustache. Count Dooku, the alias of Lord Tyrannus, apprentice to the Sith Lord Sidious, ran a hand through his perfectly groomed hair, a small smile on his thin lips as a glowing blue hologram came to life on the podium before him.

"All is proceeding as planned, Master."


	3. Operating

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Chapter Three: Operating

He didn't remember much after San Hill left him alone in the bacta tank, fading in and out of unconsciousness. The accelerated healing promoted by the bacta left his already weak body totally exhausted, and in his conversation with San Hill, he'd forced himself to sound stronger than he looked. It was no wonder he could barely keep his eyes open. When he had his lucid moments, he could see several foreign figures flitting before his tank, sometimes carrying things and other times not, obviously preparing for something. But he mostly dreamed, remembering his family back on Kalee, his beloved wives and many children, the thrill of hunting the wild creatures that roamed the seas and deserts, all the things he found himself missing as he floated in the thick green bacta. He was jolted from one of these pleasant memories, jerked into almost-consciousness by a subtle shift in the fluid that surrounded him. For a moment, he didn't know what exactly had woken him, then he realized that he could see almost clearly, and the bubbles of his own exhalations having disappeared. A sharp pain dug into his shoulders, pulling him fully awake the nutrient attachments began to take his full weight as the bacta drained away. Strange, insect-like aliens he recognized as Genosians from the news feeds scrambled about the large room that housed his tank. He could see a metal stretcher of some kind in the claws of the Genosians gathered directly in front of him, and a large stainless steel operating table off to one side of the tank, surrounded by odd-looking instruments. The cylinder of glass that separated him from the insectoid aliens slid down out of sight, and he realized with a start that they were about to begin the procedure San Hill had said would give him a new body. Blinking bacta from his eyes, he watched the Genosians approach, positioning the stretcher just so as one of their number fluttered up to his eye level on translucent wings. The flyer disconnected him from the various life support devices, allowing the others to utilize the stretcher. He was moved to the operating table, and was suddenly surrounded by at least a dozen pairs of the hollow black eyes, all staring right at him. One of the Genosians turned to another, chattering in a strange buzzing language. As he was watching them, he didn't see the syringe until it was too late. The hypodermic plunged into his neck, and he felt what little remained of his body freeze in total paralysis. He couldn't even scream as the scalpels slit into his flesh, severing nerves, ligaments, and muscles alike. It was like molten metal was poured into his veins, as his lifeblood spilled out over the silver metal of the operating table. Buzzing voices flitted over his head, filling his ears with the hum of fluttering insectoid wings as the Genosians zipped about. An awful sucking sound then a crackling pop was the only warning he had before pure agony tore across his chest as his rib cage was pulled from his chest and both shoulders wrenched from their sockets. It was only due to the serum's effects that he failed to cry out from the all-consuming pain. His vision fell out of focus, and he began to pray. For himself, for his family, for his people, he prayed to every deity he knew of and to any of those he didn't who might or might not be listening. Something made a sickly crack, and he felt himself arch up from the table, white-hot pain behind his eyes as a strangled animalistic wail ripped from his mangled throat. Then another syringe stabbed into his jugular, and he felt no more.


	4. Discovery

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Chapter Four: Discovery

He came to some time later, feeling oddly numb, probably a remnant of the sedative. At least, he hoped it was only a remnant of the sedative. With everything that the Genosians had done to him earlier, he couldn't be sure. The memory of the insectoid beings wrenching his rib cage out while he was still conscious was enough to make him emit a pitiful whimper, and was nearly scared out of his skin when the sound not only registered audibly, but sent gleaming gold lines of text streaming across the insides of his eyelids, along with a small sine wave measuring the tone. It was enough to startle him into blinking open his eyes, where the shadowed recesses of the tank room ceiling came into a focus he had never before known even existed, distracting him from the golden text that still scrolled across his vision but had faded to a translucency just a smidge above that of transparitisteel. He could pierce through the shadows with the efficiency of night-vision goggles without the green tint, and see the ceiling panels clearly enough to count the miniscule rivets securing the metal sheets together. A soft hushing sort of sound caused him to turn his head, wondering where the sound was coming from, and felt something on the side of his head press against the surface of the operating table on which he still lay. It wasn't a feeling, exactly, more like a sense of increased pressure, like he was perceiving it through something instead of directly. By rolling his head carefully back and forth, he could translate the pressure to figure out the shape of the thing on the side of his head, a long curve that flared out to narrow points at either end. Somehow, he knew that it was through this attachment that he sensed sound, but he figured that wasn't the only thing the curve could sense. His curiosity peaked by this revelation, he made to sit up, simply to see what his new body looked like. But something stopped him before he had even lifted his shoulders. Rolling his head just so, he could see a restraint clamped down onto an ivory panel rounded into a curve. It didn't make sense. He tried again, and again was stopped before he even started. A little seed of fear planted itself deep into his psyche, and he tried again, then again, and again, becoming increasingly frenetic with each failed attempt.

"Stop that."

Startled, he froze, his head rolling towards the soft voice. A human male, elderly judging by his snowy-white hair and mustache, stood framed in the silver arch of a hydraulic door. The man wore a long black cloak over a finely tailored set of black robes, black gloves on his long-fingered hands.

"You are still recovering from the procedure. It will take a while for your body to acclimate."

The human spoke with a clear authority, tempered with an almost pleasant undertone. That alone was enough to make his uneasy. Pretty speech more often than not was a bad omen. He watched the man approach, feeling his apprehension rising as he noted the proud, gracile movements of the human's steps. It was like watching a karrabac stalking a mummu by the water's edge.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled, and he half expected fangs to sprout from the pink gums.

"Count Dooku. I was the one who organized your rescue from the Jenuwaa Sea and your subsequent transport here to Genosis."

Dooku continued forward, until he stood barely a hands breadth from the table's edge.

"Why can't I move?"

"Ah. The Genosians had to strap you done part way through the surgery, as you were thrashing about and causing yourself injury."

Probably right after they wrenched his shoulders from their sockets.

"What did they do to me?!"

Count Dooku smiled again, that same smile he had seen so many times before on a hunting karrabac that knew a meal to be forthcoming.

"Why don't I release those restraints and let you see for yourself?"

The human reached out one gloved hand, and he heard the metal restraints clack open. Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, a disturbing whirring sound reaching his ears with every movement. A terrible feeling of dread sank its claws into him at his first glimpse of his new legs. Entirely robotic, all wires and metal and covered with minimal plates of shaped ivory armor, massive digigrade talons for feet. He flexed each of the four durasteel claws individually, just to make sure that they were indeed part of him. Fear gripped him, forcing his eyes to follow the legs up to the rest of his body. More ivory armor, more wires, more metal. Through the curved plates of his chest he could just barely see a white synthskin gut sack, where his heart was beating a staccato rhythm of panic and his lungs fought to keep up. He now had six digits on each hand, four fingers and two thumbs, divided evenly over a sectioned palm. In fact, his whole arm seemed to be divided evenly in two from the shoulder down, a realization that scared the living daylights out of him. No longer caring that Dooku stood right next to him, watching his every move, he brought his hands up to his face, and nearly choked when the digits clacked against the smooth curve of a face mask, totally devoid of the ritual adornments of his people. Out of the corner of one eye, he noticed the glittering silver surface of a mirror standing to the side of the bacta tank just behind the count. He tumbled off the operating table, crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs. Durasteel talons made a sharp screech on the metal flooring as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling over to the mirror and tripping into the polished transparitisteel with a sharp crack. A customized droid stared back at him, almost skeletal in appearance, all smooth ivory plating and partially visible construction. Then he saw the eyes. His own golden, slit-pupil orbs, surround by pebbled rust tone skin, peering wide-eyed out of the blank face plate. A terrified scream rang off the metal walls, crackling through a slitted vocabulator, and he collapsed into oblivion, the vision of that gaunt expressionless face mask and the golden eyes trapped within its ivory embrace burned into his mind.


	5. Escape

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Note: This is where I diverge from the norm and institute my own interpretation.

Chapter 5: Escape

It took several weeks for the transfigured Kaleesh general to stop screaming the moment he regained consciousness and rediscovered his robotic body, months before he stopped begging the gods to release him from the living nightmare that he had become. The Genosians continued to strap him down to the same operating table, as it was the only thing large enough for the now-cyborg to lay on without part of him hanging off one end or the other, which did nothing to help the situation. Finally, a sleep-deprived Count Dooku stepped in, 'convincing' the insect-like aliens to place their traumatized patient in a properly prepared room, soundproof and sturdily reinforced to compensate for the increased strength the Kaleesh had yet to fully master. Locked in that room with only himself for company, he decided that his old name would not suit him any longer, and came to call himself Grievous, for the continual grief his transformation caused him. He began to carve traditional markings into his duranium armor, using only his sharpened fingertips and a cleaned bit of the metal wall to observe the angular decorations, even going so far as to work in the subtle curves of the mummu skull and the sharp incisors of the karrabac into the designs on his face mask before his fingertips became blunted. Dooku noticed this bid for individualism, eventually manipulating the Genosians into cleaning up the general's markings while they replaced the dulled fingertips. The insectoids, perfectionists that they were, found the Kaleesh's original mask, using the bone as a template for the duranium version and even going so far as to dye the markings with indelible ink in the proper tones. Grievous was allowed free reign of the complex after the carvings were finished, allowing him to get used to his new form. He found a battered gray blanket while wandering, and wore it constantly, concealing the majority of his cyborg body from sight, until Dooku got fed up with his battered appearance and presented him with a sturdy cloak that skimmed the floor even when the general stood at his full height of seven feet. The count kept constant tabs on the redesigned Kaleesh, waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to continue his manipulation and reporting any progress to his dark master. It was almost six months since the shuttle crash that changed his life, that Grievous discovered a way out of the complex. He had taken to roaming between guard shifts, when there were fewer around to gawk at him, and came across an open door he had never seen before. Stars twinkled like little crystalline gems embedded in the deep velvety blackness of the night sky, Genosis' twin moons glowing in a pair of grinning crescents, coaxing him out into the open. Utilizing the guidance system the Genosians had built in, he located the star that represented his home system's sun, a single brilliant flame among so many. For a long while, the general stared into the night, feeling a homesickness so acute it made him weak in the knees and he had to sit down or fall down. Memories of his many children and his beloved wives flooded his mind, bringing tears to his golden eyes as he prayed for their safety. He probably would have sat out there for the whole night, and surely into the day, if not for a single solitary sound. A strange hum that would have had his hackles raised if he still had any. The hum manifested itself before him as a solitary beam of emerald green light, bursting out of the still-open door and bolting across the dry landscape with volleys of laser fire racing after. Flicking the mental switch that activated his night vision, he saw a troop of scrawny battle droids marching at double time after a human female dressed in an olive jumpsuit with a brown robe on top, a silver handle held in one hand emitting the brilliant green beam of light. Quite clearly a Jedi. Curious, he raced after the strange procession, his long legs extending out in an easy lope, catching up to the droids in no time. The woman was harder, her booted feet clomping across the dirt at an unnatural speed, but he eventually caught up to her as well. She didn't seem to notice him, allowing him to examine her thoroughly. Her skin was very pale, and covered in little red-brown spots, especially across her nose, with her wavy russet brown hair chopped to shin length. It was obvious she had been running for a while, her breathing coming in quick pants and beads of sweat gathering on her brow. Absorbed in his examination, he failed to notice that he wasn't exactly going unnoticed any longer, as the woman's hazel-green eyes darted over to him and widened in fear. One moment, the female Jedi was running beside him, the next he was dodging an arc of emerald light as she swung out with her sabre. Before he even realized what he was doing, his clawed hand had darted out and clamped onto the woman's shoulder, causing her to lose her balance. She tripped forward with a squeak of surprise, flipping the blade of light away from her so she wouldn't impale herself in the fall. He caught her before she could take her tumble, two arms cracking into four to better his grip around her torso as he lengthened his already expansive stride into a near-gallop. The woman wriggled about as he ran, trying to wrest herself from his grasp even as he dug his finger-claws into the fabric of her jumpsuit.

"Let me go, you overgrown toaster!"

"If I let you go, you will die."

She glared at him, her face pinking slightly as her temper got the best of her.

"Listen, droid-!"

"I am _not_ a droid."

His voice lowered to a rumble, barely contained fury turning the sentence almost into a growl. The Jedi froze in his grasp, eyes widening as the color drained from her face. A moment of silence, then he let out an irritated snort.

"Turn off your lightsabre. The battle droids are following it."  
Grumbling half-heartedly under her breath, she reluctantly did as she was told, deactivating her sabre and clipping it onto her belt.

"Where is your ship?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to leave here just as much as you do. Where is your ship?"

For a moment, she simply glared at him, then pointed off towards a crumbling rock formation not too far off.

"At the top."

He shifted direction, lengthening his stride to the point where they were just about flying over the arid landscape. The woman gasped at his speed, swinging her arms around his neck to secure her position.

"W-why are you helping me?"

"Because I was promised redemption and turned into a monster."

After that, the pair of them were silent, the only sound the steady thumping of his durasteel claws in the dirt as the rock formation grew closer. He bounded up the near-vertical slope, his talons digging into the soft stone to propel him upwards at a healthy clip. Just as she'd said, her ship lay at the top, a small interceptor tucked neatly under a projecting overhang. The navidroid burst into a flurry of panicked beeping at the sight of him, obviously thinking the massive cyborg a threat to its mistress.

"NeeWa, its alright! He helped me escape."

A few more beeps, and Grievous felt a deep scan wash over him as the droid searched for any signs of duplicity. It exploded into more frantic beeping, throwing in a few coos of distress as it popped the interceptor's cockpit open. The woman whirled on him, her eyes narrowed.

"A tracking device?!"

Before he had the slightest clue as to what she was talking about, she was on him, throwing him to the ground with a Force push and forcing him over onto his front. He began to panic when the Jedi paralyzed his movements with more Force manipulation, remembering the surgery that had transformed him. She paid no attention to his growing terror, intent upon a panel of his shoulder armor, slipping her slender fingers between the ivory plates to feel across their undersides. A wry grin flickered over her pale lips.

"There you are…"

The triumphant tone in her voice kicked his panic up a notch, memories of Count Dooku watching him discover his new form flooding his mind. Recalling that terrible ordeal, he could not suppress a quiet whimper of fear, squeezing his eyes closed as the Jedi fiddled with his inner workings. When the Force paralysis was finally lifted, he couldn't get to his feet fast enough, bucking off the woman as he scrambled upright. He stopped at the edge of the small plateau, hunched over with his breath coming in hard gasps as he pulled his dark cloak tight about his trembling body. There was a faint crunching sound, then the clunk of the Jedi's boots on the hard stone. She tried to place a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away from her touch, the painful memories still vivid in his mind's eye.

"I'm sorry."

It took a few seconds for him to find his voice, as he fought back the terrible visions.

"I-It's not your fault."

The moment probably would have turned into something ridiculously sappy, if not for the prompt intervention of droid laser fire zipping up and nearly clipping his shoulder. Both Jedi and cyborg bolted for the interceptor, the woman hopping up into the seat while he slipped in behind her, for once thanking the gods for his new body as it was slender and agile enough to fit in the narrow space behind the pilot's seat. As the Jedi slapped a flight helmet onto her head, she yelled at the navidroid to start the ignition sequence.

"NeeWa, is the _Voyager_ in position yet?!"

The little round droid beeped in the affirmative as the transparitisteel shield sealed over the cockpit. Once again, he thanked the gods for his altered form, as the shield curve forced him to hunch over so far he just about folded in half. In his old body, the position would have been very painful, especially since he would more than likely have to remain in the same state for the duration of the flight. Vermilion laser fire zipped about the small vessel like a million glowing insects, bouncing off the shielded hull as the interceptor hovered out from under the overhang and bolted for the night sky. As the spacecraft zoomed up through the atmosphere, the Jedi opened a com channel, allowing the navidroid to pilot the vessel to its jump ring waiting in orbit.

"Interceptor _Brigand _calling Imperial Cruiser _Voyager_. Jedi Knight Kayla Brook en route with friendly. Repeat. Jedi Knight Kayla Brook en route with friendly. Do you copy?"

A moment of silence, then the com crackled.

"Imperial Cruiser _Voyager_ calling Interceptor _Brigand_. Copy friendly. Arrival time?"

"No pursuit so far. Approximate arrival time ten minutes with hyper jump."

"Roger that. Arrival in ten. Hangar ready."

"Roger. Interceptor _Brigand_ out."

NeeWa burbled something, then the com went dead as the interceptor docked with its jump ring. The Jedi, who he now knew to be Kayla Brook, clamped both hands onto the flight controls.

"NW-621, plot hyper space jump coordinates for proper trajectory."

A whistle came from the navidroid, and a green holo-grid was projected onto the transparitisteel directly in front of the female Jedi, showing a neat arch from their current location to a point out in space. No small sense of dread fell upon him as he saw the woman's grip on the controls tighten to the point where her knuckles went white.

"Hang onto your gut sack…"

He clamped onto the edges of the seat with all six limbs a split-second before the stars blurred into streaks of white and the interceptor leapt away from Genosis. Down on the planet's surface, a hooded figure smiled.

"_Perfect._"


	6. Interaction

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Note: This is where I diverge from the norm and institute my own interpretation.

Chapter 6: Interaction

"Are you alright?"

A voice. He could hear it, a vaguely familiar voice, but muffled, as if coming through a fog.

"Hello? You okay?"  
Something touched him, shook him, trying to brush away the clinging fog. It was a strange sensation, like he was hanging in some kind of limbo, not quite one thing, but not quite another. What he was hovering between, he didn't know, but he knew that he wanted to be one or the other, not floating between. The voice started to sound worried, the shaking getting harder.

"C'mon, wake _up_! Stupid dumb toaster head! Wake. UP!"

A sharp impact yanked him from the fog, jerking him into consciousness so fast he sat up ramrod straight and smacked his head on the transparitisteel dome over the cockpit with a startled gasp. His vision stuttered for a moment, then jumped into focus, revealing the relieved visage of the female Jedi he had helped escape from Genosis.

"Thank the Force. I thought I'd lost you there for a minute."

She slumped back down into her seat, her slender fingers flitting over the many keys of the interceptor's dashboard.

"You passed out mid-jump. I noticed when your head slid down over my shoulder. Thought maybe you'd got yourself injured back at the Genosian complex."

Concerned green eyes glanced back at him, the pale fingers pausing in their movement.

"You _are_ alright, right?"

For a long moment, he could do nothing but stare, mystified by the Jedi's sudden concern for his well-being. Then the woman blinked, and he swiftly regained his composure, turning his golden gaze out to the sparkling expanse of space.  
"I am fine."

Which was surprisingly true. Maybe a little light headed, but nothing he couldn't handle. Kayla smiled, her freckled nose crinkling with the gesture.

"That's good. I'm a pretty good Force healer, but my skills are limited to organic flesh. If there'd been something wrong with your robotic bits, I dunno what I would've done."

Grievous gave the human female a sidelong glance, but did not respond to her statement. To be completely truthful, if he did get hurt, he wasn't exactly sure he would want to be healed. Fixed. Whatever. Being partially inorganic was rather confusing at times, especially when it came to more exclusive terms in conversation. Not that he really even cared all that much. It was just… Awkward. He shook his head, casting aside such mundane thoughts, and just about leapt through the transparitisteel when the com crackled loudly.

"Imperial Cruiser _Voyager_ calling Interceptor _Brigand_. Imperial Cruiser _Voyager_ calling Interceptor _Brigand_. Do you copy?"

Kayla practically launched herself at the com interface, punching the respond with her thumb.

"This is Interceptor _Brigand_. We are waiting at the rendezvous coordinates."

"Copy that, _Brigand_. Please stand by for docking orders."

The Jedi's brow furrowed, her pale cheeks turning slightly pink.

"Docking orders? To dock with _what_? There's nothing out-!"

As she spoke, a section of space seemed to ripple and undulate, then a massive silver cruiser popped into existence.

"-There…"  
Golden and hazel-green eyes widened at the sight of the gigantic space craft that had just appeared out of nowhere, stunned silence filling the cockpit. The crackling com snapped them both back to reality.

"Interceptor _Brigand_, please proceed to the military vessel hangar bay in Quadrant B. Transmitting entry codex."

One of the switches on the array started blinking a cheerful yellow, which the Jedi flicked with barely concealed apprehension. A small holo-screen popped up on the right-hand transparitisteel, showing a set of coordinates and a series of numbers in neon yellow.

"Codex received, _Voyager_. Interceptor _Brigand_ to hangar."

Kayla swiftly had NeeWa download the codex for a quick entry while she had the interceptor sweep towards the bay that lay at the aft end of the great vessel, thankfully on the near-side since her legs were starting to cramp up. She'd moved the seat forward as far as it would go in her frantic attempt to revive the droi- cyborg that sat behind her, and didn't have time to readjust the seat before she started towards the hangar. As the hangar doors eased open, her mind wandered back to the cloaked anomaly staring off into space not a hands breadth away from her. The guy had practically saved her keister from the battle droid patrol back on Genosis, and she didn't even know his name. Well, that was easy enough to remedy.

"So, what's your name?"  
He blinked, the slit-pupils of his eyes narrowing for a moment as he focused a glance in her direction, then peered back out into the black mantle of space.

"You may call me General Grievous."

General? She quirked an eyebrow as she eased her narrow craft into the bay.

"Military?"

"At one time."

"Retired, then?"  
The cyborg's brilliant golden eyes narrowed to near slits as he turned his carved facemask in her direction.

"No."

She felt her breath freeze in her throat at the dangerous tone in Grievous' gravelly voice, the whole universe slowing to a standstill. Never, in all her life, had she ever been so absolutely terrified as she was right then, nose to facemask with those predatory slit-pupil eyes. It was like facing down one of those giant felinoid creatures that the Genosians used in their coliseums, all fangs and claws and bloodlust, with nothing to fight back with, not even the powers of the Force to draw upon. A knock on the transparitisteel dome jump-started the galaxy back on track, and Kayla turned to see a technician gesturing that it was all right to disembark from her craft. NeeWa had already separated from the interceptor, milling about with a few other navidroids waiting for their masters. Without another moment's hesitation, the Jedi popped open the translucent shield, leaping from the _Brigand_ to the floor and skittering away several steps before she calmed down. She turned just in time to see Grievous disembark. The cyborg flipped himself out of the interceptor in a blur of slate gray and ivory, slamming into the hangar floor on all fours with enough force to leave a shallow dent in the inch-thick iron plating before rising to his feet with such grace she felt like a klutz just watching him. He stood tall for a moment, his cloak fluttering loosely about his robotic body as he cast a glance about the stunned bay, then dropped into the near crouch she had seen back on Genosis. In one stride he stood beside her, looming over her slight frame even though he was hunched over. Peering down at her, she could see the dangerous look in his eyes had vanished, as if it had never been. He raised what might have been an eyebrow, but without hair, and looked pointedly at something over her head. And she felt her cheeks burn. She'd forgotten to take off her flight helmet! Feeling very silly, she fumbled with the catches of the flight helmet, almost ripping off one of her fingernails before the general interfered with her frenzied movements and gently slipped the helmet from her head. The burning sensation increased in her embarrassment.

"Th-thanks."

He said nothing, merely handed the helmet off to an open-mouthed technician, who seemed to scuffle with the object for a moment before clamping onto the material with a veritable death grip. Kayla decided she'd better move before something else happened, and just about bolted for the elevators, the cyborg striding after her as little NeeWa brought up the rear, beeping all the way about being left behind _again_. It was only when all three were gathered in the confines of the hover-lift elevator, making for the upper floors, that Grievous finally spoke.

"I apologize."

She blinked, startled.

"What?"

"I was wrong of me to become angered with you. You know nothing of me besides my name. It was not my place to judge. Therefore, I apologize for my actions in your vessel."

He said it so calmly, so emotionless, he could have been talking about the weather. It took a moment to find her voice.

"No prob. Just spooked me a bit, no harm done."

The cyborg tilted his head, just enough to catch her gaze with his golden eyes, nodded, then returned to staring at the elevator door as if nothing had happened. She found herself frozen in place by what she saw in those glimmering orbs, just in that split second. A deeply-seated fear, buried in the dark crevasse of the ebony slit that was his pupil, and the most heartfelt gratefulness she had ever been able to witness. It was the beeping of her hand-com that tore her from the spell of those eyes, reporting a call from the _Voyager's_ bridge. She clicked the activation, causing a partial holo of the ship's captain to appear in her palm.

"Captain Vhanyal. It is good to see you."

The captain of the _Voyager_ was a rather handsome specimen of the Nautolan species, tall and slender with wide dark eyes, the many tentacles upon his head the color of plains grass after a good rain. Vhanyal nodded, his thin lips stretching into a pleasant smile.

"Welcome back, Jedi Brook. I take it you liked the demonstration of the _Voyager's_ new cloaking system?"

A small smile flickered across her face, despite her weariness.

"Oh, ha, ha, very funny. The way you just popped in like that, I thought my little _Brigand_ was gonna get squished! I have never been so scared in my whole entire life!"

Unless one included the incident with the cyborg standing not a hands-breadth behind her. Vhanyal laughed, a truly mischievous sound.

"Your _Brigand_ will always be safe with me, Brook. No worries about that."

The Nautolan's jovial expression shifted suddenly to serious.

"Now, I hear your mission almost went south. And you picked up a stray. What happened over there?"

She felt the smile fall from her lips as she recalled her near-botched escape attempt and the cyborg that had saved her ass. And all that she'd uncovered at the Genosian lab.

"I'll send you a complete report in the morning."

Before the captain could protest, she cut off the connection and dropped the holo-disc into her pocket just as the elevator gave a cheery little ding to announce it had arrived on the proper floor, and stepped out into a narrow hallway. Grievous fell in step beside her, his long strides matching three of her own while NeeWa puttered along half a pace behind. He remained silent, the only sounds the fluttering of his cloak and the faint clang of his claws on the metal floor. Wasn't like he was very talkative to begin with. The young Jedi glanced over to the ivory cyborg, wondering what he'd been doing at that horrendous place. It was painfully obvious he hadn't ended up there by choice, if that little incident up on the plateau was any indicator. Yet, the creature striding along beside her showed no signs of that trauma, sleek and powerful as a predator in its native habitat. She suppressed a tired sigh, turning into the small alcove hiding the entranceway that led to her personal quarters. Her fingers tapped over the keypad, entering the proper codex. The hydraulic doors hissed open, revealing the plush foyer that came with the diplomatic suite. She suppressed a groan of disappointment. Why did she always get these fancy-schmancy decorative places? Ask for a bed and shower, get a whole four room suite. Bloody hell. It's not that she didn't appreciate the acknowledgment of her rank, she just didn't like the impression it gave people. Majority assumed that anyone who had these kinds of quarters were stuck up pricks that only cared about themselves and their money. Shaking her head, she trudged across the vermilion carpet towards the washroom, shoving aside one of the over-stuffed couches with a Force-push. Halfway to the bathing room, she realized there were no heavy claws thumping after her. Kayla turned back to the door, and found the general standing just outside where the metal of the hallway met the scarlet pile of the carpet.

"Well? Are you just gonna stand there like a drone or what?"

Slitted ebony pupils narrowed in an irritated glare, but the general did take a step inside, allowing the door to hiss closed behind him. He looked so out of place, all darkness and angles amidst the trappings of a diplomat, even one so reluctant as herself. The plush surroundings simply did not suit him. Not that she fit in any better, with her sandy brown robes and olive jumpsuit. Speaking of which…

"If you'll excuse me, I am in serious need of a shower. Make yourself comfortable, 'kay?"

Much to her surprise, the cyborg perked up, promptly striding over to one of the couches and flopping onto his front amidst the vermilion cushions. Grievous stretched out to his full length, talons hanging over one end while his head drooped over the other atop a large pillow, dark cloak dragging on the floor. For a long moment, it was all she could do to just stare, more than a little stunned by the general sprawled over the couch in the same manner as a contented cat. In a sort of half-daze, the young Jedi stepped into the washroom, and let the door hiss closed behind her before she burst out laughing. Back in the foyer, Grievous cracked open a single golden eye, throwing a lazy glare at the bathroom door before he relaxed into the plush furnishings with a satisfied sigh.


	7. Nightmare

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Note: This is where I diverge from the norm and institute my own interpretation.

Chapter 7: Nightmare

_It is dark, the pitch-blackness of midnight. A flickering fire holds back the shadows, brilliant orange and red flickering in a million chattering tongues. In the dim light, the innards of a small hut flutter in and out of definition. Furry animal skins line the walls, the hair upon them thick and short, soft to the touch. He knows each hide, which animal gave up its flesh. Each creature he killed himself, one for every time he has entered this little shelter. A fresh corpse lay before him, a slender quadrupedal herbivore with the thick pelt of a water dweller his people call a _czarite._ The long curved blade he wields is used only in this enclosure, though he carries it with him where ever he goes. It is made from silver metal, polished to a mirror shine, the bone handle carved with ceremonial symbols. He reaches into a hide bag hanging from the ceiling, pulls out a small handful of herbs he swiftly scatters over the flames before him. The fire spits sparks every which way, hissing like an angry snake, then soars up to scorch the ceiling with sickly green flames. A wave of heat washes over him, surrounds him, and suddenly he is no longer in the fur-lined enclosure, but suspended in the soupy liquid embrace of the bacta tank back on Genosis. He gasps, feeling his breath burn in his throat, as the fluid drains away. Then he's on the operating table, paralyzed, and he's screaming as the Genosians rip out his rib cage-_

Grievous lurched into full consciousness, his heart pounding in his ears as he tumbled headlong onto the floor with a strangled cry. He was back on Genosis, back in that awful tank room, the nightmare image of the droid with his eyes looming large in his sight. Terror blinded him to his physical surroundings, choked off everything but the awful memories. Without any real conscious thought process, he fled, buried himself in the silent darkness huddled behind a chair tucked close to one wall. He crouched there, curled into a trembling ball of armor and shadowy cloth, praying to every deity who might be listening in his native tongue. The terrible remembering shredded what little remained of his self-control, and he felt the tears beading up, blurring his vision. Pain, agony, burning through his mind though his body was under so such duress.

"Grievous?"

A voice, soft and barely familiar, somehow slipped through the haze of panic, jolting him not quite to reality, but close enough for him to pick out the pale blot of a face peering down at him, haloed in the faint golden glow of an overhead lamp. Startled, he tried to leap away, slamming hard into the wall. It hurt, bringing forward the pain of his torturous reconfiguration. He felt something brush against his faceplate, and he jerked away with a terrified yelp, pressing further into the shadowed corner. The voice came back, trying to be calm but strained from the effort, as trembling hands grabbed hold of the primary sensor panels on either side of his head.

"Greivous, it's me, Kayla! It's just me! You don't have to be scared!"

Words, strange words, not his people, not his Kalee brethren. He wailed, lost in the all-consuming maw of fear, and tried to pull away again. Then, something, he didn't know what it was, washed over him, a cool wave that traveled from his sensor panels across his whole body, pushing back the claws of terror. With the wave's help, he was able to reassert his self-control, slowly dragging himself from the painful memories into reality. Tear-blurred vision eventually cleared, hauling the world back into focus. He found himself staring up at a vaguely familiar ceiling, ivory tile draped with scarlet banners, from behind a large overstuffed vermilion armchair set up against the wall. For a moment, he wondered why exactly he was huddled between an armchair and a small side table with his back in a corner, but then recalled the uncontrollable terror that had been practically eating him alive not half a second previous. The most basic instincts of his people, being evolved from nocturnal herbivores, were to take shelter at the first sign of danger. In his panic, he had acted instinctively, seeking out the nearest small dark place to hole up in for safety's sake. But he had been practically delirious with fright, so scared he couldn't even think straight, let alone pull himself out of his panic attack. So, what-? He suddenly noticed the weight on his torso, the mumbled half-prayers muffled by the thick fabric of his cloak, and looked down to see a tousled mop of dark hair lying upon his chest plates. It took him a moment to recognize the Jedi, her robes and jumpsuit replaced by a pale green dressing gown, her hair black and slick with water.

"Kayla?"

She started at his quiet voice, jerking her head up to meet his gaze with a startled gasp. The spooked look in her red-rimmed eyes faded to relief, and she lay her head back down on his chest with a soft sigh, never breaking eye contact.

"Hey, big guy. Feelin' better?"

For a moment, he wondered how she'd known, then realized that it was her hands clamped onto his sensor panels, and remembered what she'd said about her Force healing.

"I am… Better. Thank you."  
Kayla smiled, a motion that softened her entire expression.

"No problem."

With that, she rested her head back on his chest with a weary sigh and let her hands slip off his sensor panels as she succumbed to combined stresses of the day. Just fell asleep, not even bothering to move to her designated resting area. The last time something like that had happened, his youngest child had fallen ill and, unable to rest due to the fever, had turned to him for comfort. Remembering his beloved family, the cyborg felt his wounded heart soften towards the female Jedi. She had done so much for him, never asking for anything in return. Gingerly, he lay a hand atop her head, running his armored fingers through her damp hair in a rare show of affection. He gently gathered her up in his arms, easing to his feet so he wouldn't wake her, and carried her into the extravagant bedroom. The Jedi looked so small on that massive bed, not unlike one his own offspring when they were young. Drawing a blanket over the slumbering human, he strode to the door, pausing a moment at the door to turn out the light before he returned to his couch.


	8. History

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Note: This is where I diverge from the norm and institute my own interpretation.

Chapter 8: History

Jedi Knight Kayla Brook woke up the next morning mildly confused. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the cyborg general's panic attack and her using her Force healing to calm him, which had exhausted her to the point where she simply passed out right there on his armored chest. But, she woke snuggled into the overly extravagant bed that was provided with the democratic suite, a thick quilt pulled up to her shoulders. It didn't match up. Even though she was still slightly groggy, she dragged herself off the bed, pulling the quilt around her shoulders in a trailing sort of shawl as she plodded out into the foyer in search of the cybernetic general. She found him curled up on the same long couch from before, wrapped in his dark cloak and practically buried underneath a mess of scarlet pillows. He looked almost cute. For a moment, her drowsy mind froze, then backpedaled to the thought that had just gone through her mind. What the hell?! The guy was all angles and armor, the only visibly organic thing about him those fierce golden eyes of his, though when he slept those glittering orbs were covered by pebbled skin the color of a dark red wine flecked with rust. Nothing even remotely cute about him, though she supposed he did have an odd sort of attractive quality to him, in an angular, semi-robotic way. Like a kind of moving sculpture. Her thoughts took a sudden turn, remembering the general's panic. Proof that the cyborg truly was a sentient being, if only because it showed that, for all his outward appearance of strength and arrogance, he too could be traumatized. In her flash healing, she had seen snippets of the memories that plagued his subconscious, terrible physical pain and an emotional agony unlike any she had ever encountered. She had barely glimpsed the nightmare he had experienced, but remembering what little she had seen made her shiver and pull the quilt tighter about her shoulders. The Genosians had operated him while he was still conscious, hadn't even given him any painkillers before they started cutting on him. How he still managed to retain not only his sanity, but his pride and dignity as well, was a mystery to her. Were she to undergo the same procedure, she would be reduced to a gibbering mess, of that she was certain. Shaking her head, she brought her mind back to the present, and found a pair of golden slit-pupil eyes looking up at her.

"How long have you been standing there?"

The question was honestly curious, surprisingly devoid of the annoyance she would have expected to hear from someone who had woken up to find a near-stranger staring at them. Kayla blinked, a little startled, then let a small smile flit across her lips before plopping herself down on the plush carpet.

"Not long. You sleep okay?"

The cyborg's eyes narrowed, but he nodded, the curved panels on either side of his head twitching a little in a movement that reminded her of an interested feline pet, a notion that made her smile widen.

"My rest was satisfactory. And your own?"

"I slept well, thank you. Though I am curious as to how I ended up in the bedroom."  
She barely stifled an amused giggle at the subtle shift of the general's head, the slightly embarrassed way his gaze slid away from her own.

"You did not appear comfortable when you lost consciousness last night, so I carried you to a more comfortable resting place."

He returned his eyes to hers, turning his head back in her direction.

"Was it improper of me to do so?"

It was too much. Unable to hold back any longer, she burst out laughing.

"No, no, no! It's fine, it's fine! It was very kind of you, thank you."

Grievous visibly relaxed, slumping further into the cushions as he rested his head on his now-folded arms as her merriment trailed off. She noticed that he appeared reluctant to remove himself from the plush cocoon he had built for himself, to the point where he didn't bother to stretch out across the couch as he had done when she'd first asked him to make himself comfortable.

"You look pretty comfy there."

The cyborg blinked, then gave a soft sigh.

"It reminds me of my home."

Sensing a story coming on, the Jedi quickly made herself comfortable.

"I used to live on a planet called Kalee. My people had been fighting for many generations, seeking to be kept from being enslaved by vicious insectoids who shared our solar system. We called them the Huk, for they used to 'hook' our shuttles and transports right out of the air, capturing as many as they could before killing the rest. Though we fought back, our trade routes were cut off, too many were afraid to help us in our war. The wiseman of my family's village prophesied that a great warrior would be born to our home, one blessed by the gods, who would lead the Kaleesh to victory against the Huk. I was the only child in my family born on the proper date."

"So you were to be this great warrior?"

He nodded absently, lost in his remembering.

"The prophecy turned out to be only partially true. I met a fellow warrior, a female from a village across the desert from my own, born on the same date, whose skills rivaled my own. When we worked together…"  
The cyborg got a wistful look in his eyes.

"We were unstoppable. Her with the twin swords, I with the long rifle. She became my first wife, and gave me three sons. I did eventually take other wives, but Ronderu would always be my favorite. Even after she died."

Kayla felt tears prick her eyes as she reached out and lay a hand atop one of the general's.

"I'm so sorry."

He nodded, his own eyes looking a little overly shiny, gently patting her hand in a reassuring sort of gesture.

"It is alright. She died doing what she loved, fighting for the freedom of her people. My only wish is that I could have been there for her, but I was boarding a shuttle halfway around the planet, heading out to the front lines where my elite and I were needed."

Suddenly, the wistful expression turned dark, and he fell silent, turning his eyes away from her as his armored fingers slipped off hers. Kayla noticed this, his drawing into himself, and realized something was up.

"What happened after that?"

"It is none of your concern."

The cyborg rolled onto his side, his back to her, effectively cutting off any attempts at further conversation. For a long moment, the Jedi gazed at the dark cloth that covered the general's shoulders, feeling as if she had just let something important slip through her fingers, but didn't know what it was. She heaved a disappointed sigh, then rose to her feet and wandered back into the bedroom to start composing her mission report.


End file.
